


Exposition

by LesMisgayrables



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Gen, absolutely nothing happens in here because it's so expository that the name of the fic is what it is, for LesMis Mutant AU Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:11:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesMisgayrables/pseuds/LesMisgayrables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title reads, this is merely an expository ficlet. A description of everyone's mutation and how Grantaire is an awesome friend for helping everyone cultivate their abilities. There's absolutely no plot in this, only recounting of past events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this for the Les Mis Mutant AU Week, though I wasn't fast enough to post it within the actual week. I took a long thinking about everyone and their powers and limitations and such.  
> Since this is merely expository, I may write something in the future containing an actual story arc, because I'm too attached to writing the Amis' mutations now. I have a few scenes in my head that I'd love to write up, so it's a possibility.
> 
> As always is the case with me, this isn't betaed or edited; it was written in the heat of the moment, and the scene progression may make absolutely no sense at all, so I'm sorry about that. Regardless, enjoy. Or something.

Enjolras developed his powers later than most mutants did. He was seventeen the first time he made something out of the ordinary happen. His parents were arguing loudly—they never argued; they were the perfect marriage, the perfect couple, and they never argued. They adored their son and doted him with love and opportunities. They didn’t fight; they never argued.

They were arguing in the living room, and it was getting increasingly loud. Enjolras was doing his best to ignore the fight in his own room a floor above, but he felt something akin to despair clawing inside of him; he wanted to cry.

The lights flicked on and off rapidly, each time getting dimmer, until something inside them popped and they turned off with finality. The harder he tried to tune his parents out, the heavier that feeling in his chest felt. The room went from warm to chilly in under two minutes. His father mentioned his name during his next tirade, and Enjolras finally had enough. He burst into tears, but quickly wiped them away. He shot out of his room, ran down the elaborate staircase, and into the living room, where his parents stood, both flushed furiously, both in menacing positions. Neither of them noticed his presence and continued shouting.

Enjolras, witnessing this, had no chance of stopping the flow of tears now. The room seemed to darken, though the multiple lamps and the chandelier were still on. His mother started crying as she shouted at her husband. All the light bulbs in the room flickered on and off for only a second before exploding in a rain of glass—every lamp, every bulb in the chandelier.

“ _Stop it!_ ”

Marcel and Juliette stopped fighting abruptly and looked at Enjolras in shock. Enjolras was trembling—he realized he was freezing, and started rubbing his arms. His father looked around the room at all the broken glass. His mother looked at him open-mouthed and let out a breath, which condensed in the air.

“Enjolras,” said Juliette quietly. Marcel walked around the room inspecting every light, glass shattering beneath his shoes.

“I don’t know what happened,” breathed Enjolras, growing scared of the fog that came out with his words, the sound of breaking glass, of the dark room, and himself. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry.”

“Calm down, baby. Sit down. We can talk about this when you feel better,” said his mother, shivering from the cold but seemingly unbothered by it, shocked as she was from her son. “Come here,” she beckoned weakly. She walked to the couch and swiped off the glass shards uncaringly. “Come here, angel.”

Enjolras walked to her slowly, painfully aware of the cost of all the broken light bulbs. He sat down next to his mother and breathed carefully. His mother aided him in calming down, even though she was pretty altered herself. Marcel made his way back to the couch, but didn’t sit down.

“The kitchens are fine. Only this room is cold,” he informed softly. “Every light is broken; even the ones that weren’t turned on.” Enjolras flinched, but Marcel took a hand of his and of his wife’s. “It’s okay, Enjolras. We’re fine. Julie and I are fine. We’re not mad at you. It’s just a bit of glass. It’s okay.”

Enjolras took a shaky breath and nodded. His parents continued calming him down together, and he kept nodding and breathing deeply. The temperature gradually went back to normal, and somehow, the room got brighter. His parents looked at each other when they noticed, at the same time.

“We’re fine, Enjolras. It’s okay. We’re not mad at you. It’s okay…”

 

 

“That’s interesting,” said Combeferre after Enjolras told him everything, a month later. “Have you tried doing it again?” Enjolras shook his head. “I wonder what your mutation is. What exactly you can do, you know, because it’s not just temperature.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out about this?” asked Enjolras quietly. Combeferre grinned at him and jumped off the bed. He opened his guinea pig’s cage and took her out before sitting back down on the bed. Enjolras looked at him curiously.

“Pippa, climb up to Enjolras’s hair,” he said. Enjolras stared with square eyes as the guinea pig climbed up his arm, neck, and settled comfortably on top of his head. He turned to Combeferre carefully.

“You can control animals?” he asked quietly and disbelievingly. Combeferre shook his head sadly.

“Only really small animals. I tried with a pit bull once, but apparently it’s too big,” he pursed his lips in disappointment. “I can control moths, though. All insects. And Pippa,” he added. Enjolras grinned.

“That’s awesome!”

Combeferre smiled. “I don’t know, yours is pretty great.”

“Why hadn’t you told me, though?”

His friend shrugged. “The same reason you hadn’t told me until today.” Enjolras tilted his head in agreement. “Come back down, Pippa.” Pippa did as she was told. Combeferre took her in his hands and started petting her. They sat in silence for a few minutes. “Do you want to try again?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I think I need to be… distraught or, um, upset. For it. To work.” He blushed. Combeferre hummed.

“I don’t think so. I can do it all the time. So can you, I bet. There are many mutants out there, and they can all control their powers.”

“I don’t want your lamps to explode.”

“Then don’t make them explode.”

Enjolras turned to Combeferre dryly. “I don’t even know what my… _mutation_ is, and you want me to control it.”

“I have a suspicion… you’re not good with Physics, so I’m not surprise you haven’t thought about it.”

“Thanks.”

“Energy,” said Combeferre meaningfully. Enjolras raised his eyebrow, awaiting an explanation. Combeferre sighed. “Energy, or the flow of energy, at least, mediates light.”

“It’s easier to say I can control light than all that… all _that_ ,” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“But light isn’t necessarily heat, and you _can_ control temperature. Energy has a lot to do with temperature, as well, so it would encompass both. I don’t think you can control kinetic energy—that would be too—maybe… hmm… oh, this is great,” he smiled excitedly and dived for his laptop, but Enjolras stopped him.

“It’s not. We have no idea what I can do.”

“It’s definitely got to do with energy, though,” he nodded once. “There are many types of energy: kinetic, mechanical energy, potential energy… wind energy, hydraulic energy, solar ener— _whoa_.” He jumped out of bed. Enjolras looked around frantically.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s solar energy! Your power! I think it’s solar energy! Or some kind of energy that has to do with light. Oh, shit, that is so _awesome!_ ”

Enjolras laughed. Combeferre turned on his lamp and looked at Enjolras inquisitorially.

“What?”

“Make it brighter.”

“What? No! I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. Make it brighter. I’ll even—here,” he took off the lamp’s shade and exposed the bulb. “Make it brighter.”

“I don’t know how!”

“Make the room colder. Or warmer. Whatever.”

“Ferre, I don’t know how. I don’t think I can make it _warmer_ , in any case.”

“Then try the bulb.”

“No!”

“Try it!”

“I don’t know how! Stop it!”

“Enjol—”

“ _Ugh!_ Leave it alone!” _Just glow brighter so he shuts up,_ he thought to himself and the lamp. It turned much brighter for half a second before breaking. The boys stared at it. “Sorry,” he said after a while. Combeferre only grinned at him.

“That was bound to happen. It was a very cheap lamp.”

“Still—”

“Do you think you can induce you own energy?” interrupted Combeferre. “No, you can. You said all bulbs exploded; even the ones that weren’t on.” He looked at his ceiling fan; all its four lights were off.

“I don’t know?”

“Turn the four of them on. Or just one.”

Enjolras looked at the fan doubtfully, but tried to do the same as he did before. It didn’t work. “It doesn’t work.”

“Try again.”

And so they went. Often, they would get together to push their limits. Eventually, they learned that Combeferre didn’t have to speak aloud to command Pippa, that, as any muscle, his power needed to be trained. It grew stronger and stronger; strong enough that they concluded that, with time, Combeferre could indeed control basically any animal he wished, though not humans.

They learned that Enjolras’s mutation _did_ relate to solar energy, but it was, in fact, radiant energy what he could control—and induce. They read up on radiant energy extensively, trying every possible application and example of it. They used working lamps first, then worked on induction, then worked on temperature (though that didn’t work out too well). Marcel and Juliette supported his son and were equally excited about his abilities. When he was feeling an emotion particularly strongly, his powers went off on their own; he couldn’t control that yet. Neither of them thought he would ever be able to control it.

They met Courfeyrac six months later at a Young Mutants meeting. Another six months later, and the three of them headed to the same university away from home, where they met Marius, who in turn knew Éponine, who knew Cosette, who knew Grantaire, who knew Joly and Bossuet, who knew Bahorel, who knew Feuilly, who knew Musichetta, who knew Jehan Prouvaire, who knew Courfeyrac, who knew Combeferre, who knew Enjolras. They decided to move in together to one of Enjolras’s parents’ estates.

 

 

 

Enjolras observed as Combeferre and Grantaire talked animatedly to each other. He knew that those two were _great_ at helping each other, constantly experimenting and pushing and pulling the way Enjolras dreaded.

Grantaire was actually amazing at power training. He had helped everyone restrain and control their abilities, expand them, train them, strengthen them. He was an amazing tutor. The only one who had never accepted his unspoken offer was Enjolras. He, as it was stated before, didn’t like training. He also didn’t like Grantaire much, though that, and the fact that he previously didn’t want to further explore his powers, was changing.

After seeing what everyone else could do, his turning lights on and off and acclimatizing rooms seemed… boring.

Combeferre, with Grantaire, had learned that, while he wouldn’t ever be able to completely control people, he could calm people’s minds enough to hypnotize, or induce sleep. He could calm headaches and control panic and anxiety attacks. They were currently working on better hypnosis, and they got extremely excited every time it went smoother. They got together constantly.

Courfeyrac always knew he was an empath. Since middle school, he could sense anyone’s current emotions and state of mind if he tried really hard. When he touched people, he could see all their feelings and understand their reason, somehow.

With Grantaire, though, he learned how to feel emotions without so much as blinking an eye; he learned how to refrain from doing that, as well. He learned how to induce feelings, as well. When before he was only an observer, he could now interfere and manipulate: he could create sadness, lust, excitement, anger, contentment, nostalgia, fear, bliss, and any other feeling he had ever felt himself. He couldn’t create love or happiness.

 

Jehan used to think he had a green thumb until his orange tree gave him an apple.

He didn’t know what his mutation did, how it worked, or what stimulated it. He only knew that he didn’t have to use scissors to trim his plants to shape, or wait two weeks like the rest of his Science class to see his bean bloom. He met the Amis during a meeting, when Musichetta brought him along. Not five minutes later, Grantaire was teaching him how to make any plant grow exceptionally quickly, and shape it in any form.

Now, he could use vines as extra arms, get any fruit from any tree, and prevent plants from dying. Grantaire was helping him master creating plants from seams or cracks on the floor.

 

Joly had the most bizarre ability that either Grantaire or Enjolras had ever seen. He was, unlike the rest of them, able to unknowingly use his mutation since he was born. It wasn’t particularly a good thing, though, because it was incontrollable. He used to get constant dizzy spells, sharp pains behind his eyes, phantom pains in his muscles, sudden vomiting and sneeze attacks. His family and he used to be perpetually worried about him. Eventually, it stuck, and he became a bit of a hypochondriac.

All his friends accepted this and worried for him, as well. It wasn’t until he met Grantaire at a bar that he learned he had a mutation. Intrigued, he gave the scruffy man his number and they met a few times over the next few weeks to talk about his abilities, along with his boyfriend, Bossuet. They came to the conclusion that all his dizzy spells, headaches and sneeze attacks were created by himself; that his mutation consisted in creating sharp and momentary body reactions. They became best friends.

By the time they met the Amis, Joly did no longer cause these things on himself, but retained a small part of his hypochondria. He could now induce the same things in other people, but also knew how to bring relief—he was able to sedate, cease irritation, calm inflammations and could, in fact, induce orgasms (which wasn’t even Grantaire’s idea).

Bossuet’s mutation was simple: he could transform into any material he touched. Sometimes it happened at the most inopportune of times. He would lean on a wall and suddenly he would fall into the next room. He would touch a lemon and suddenly he was porous, yellow and squishy. Grantaire helped him learn how to become any material without touching it first.

Bahorel’s mutation was even more simple: he had insanely rapid cell regeneration, which meant he could slash his chest open with a nail and suffer for a couple of seconds, but by the time he blinked again, he would be healed. He also had super speed. Not as fast as Dash, from The Incredibles, or the Flash, from DC comics, but still much faster than the average human being. There wasn’t much he could learn from Grantaire. When he met the man, however, he instantly thought of introducing him to his best friend.

 

Feuilly was special. Feuilly was one of the unlucky ones. Most people didn’t have any physical traces of their mutation; most people’s mutation was invisible and practical, and useful and charming and fun. Not his. His was evident, and he suffered for it.

His skin was perpetually tanned; his hair was ochre, his numerous freckles were of various shades of red, his irises were of a very bright, very vivid orange. He was always warm. He breathed fire and his touch could burn. He didn’t scream in pain when his skin came in contact with hot burning stuff. He scared people away. The Amis took to him immediately—especially Enjolras, who witnessed how Grantaire taught him to control his fire and make an art of it. Feuilly felt so comfortable with them that he brought along Musichetta one time.

Musichetta’s extraordinary scaly skin was of a very ordinary chocolate color. She only had scales in the areas close to bone, namely the hands and feet, knees and elbows, forehead, shoulders, collarbone, sternum, hips, and column. She was what the non-mutants would call ‘exotic but beautiful’. In reality, she was beautiful and exotic and exotically beautiful and beautifully exotic. Her canine teeth were pointy and could inject venom; she was dangerous. Her skin could only be broken with the sharpest diamond. Other than that, nothing would be able to draw blood from her. She was also incredibly strong: she could carry a King sized mattress all by herself without breaking a sweat (she didn’t sweat); a car… not so much.

Grantaire had taught her how to box, lift weights, become more agile and stronger and graceful. They practiced capoeira together and most of them watched on as they did.

 

Éponine met Grantaire when she was fifteen, while going through a depressed phase in which she felt invisible and unnoticeable. She wasn’t too happy when her mutation presented in all of its cruel irony. Predictably, she could turn herself invisible, along with anything she was touching. When she was invisible, she was also silent. _Literally_ silent—everything she did produced no sound; she could talk and not be heard, walk and make no sound, fart and leave only the smell behind. She also developed night vision.

Éponine turned into an amazing nocturnal thief only a few weeks after mastering her powers. She would break into people’s houses while invisible and steal food for her and her brother, Gavroche. Her sister, Azelma, was under her parents’ wings and therefore none of her concern.

One night as she was stealing food from some random house in the suburbs, she heard sniffling coming from the stairs. She calmly closed the fridge and sat down on the couch, knowing she wouldn’t be neither seen nor heard. A slightly older-looking boy finished climbing down the stairs and padded to the kitchen, got a glass of water and opened a pill container. He was about to toss it back when he froze, staring at the kitchen counter intensely. He did nothing for a few seconds.

“I know someone’s here. Who are you?” he whispered, careful not to wake his parents. Éponine didn’t answer, of course. The boy set the pill and glass down and looked around the room. “Whoever you are, you’re busted. There are two apples less in the bowl and the knife you use to cut it is in the sink; there was only one knife in the sink.”

Éponine frowned. _Who in the world can remember such fuckery?_ , she thought as she crossed her arms and willed the guy to just go away and let her finish stealing a bit of food. The guy seemed unnerved by the silence—he was completely convinced that someone had been there.

“I know I’m not crazy. You’re here. You _must_ be here. I came down fifteen minutes ago and all was in order. Just… come out peacefully. I won’t do anything. I won’t call the police.”

“I’m here!” shouted Éponine, before laughing. Not being heard was incredibly liberating. She was still smiling when the guy took a deep breath and placed his hands on his temple. He took a step back.

“There you are,” he breathed. Éponine frowned again and looked around confusedly.

 _Please don’t hurt me,_ a voice that was not her own said in her hand. She stood up in shock and took a step back. _I’m not going to hurt you, either, Éponine Thénardier. You can become visible; I swear I won’t do anything._

She breathed for a few seconds before she resigned herself. She went back to being visible and hearable. “How did you know my name?” she asked blankly, even though she already knew the answer. The guy pressed himself up against a wall. They looked at each other curiously.

“You’re a mutant,” she stated.

“So are you.”

“I am.”

“You’re hungry.”

“Very,” she nodded curtly. She hesitated before continuing. “I’m sorry for stealing from you; I really am. I don’t really have a choice.”

“I know.” he said sympathetically. Her grimace grew. “That’s why I’m offering you to take anything you want.”

She swallowed nervously. “What do you know about me?”

“Everything,” he replied automatically. She took a step back. “I had to. I’m as sorry that I had to use my powers on you as you are.” She nodded once she understood. A strange truce fell over them like a blanket. He spoke again, more relaxed this time. “Make yourself at home. You can take anything, really. Mom won’t notice. I’m the one with eidetic memory,” he said with a hint of humor. She smiled.

“Ah, so that’s how you noticed.”

“Yeah. I’m, um, my name’s Grantaire, by the way.”

“Éponine,” she said jokingly, which made Grantaire smile wide. “So what’s your mutation?” she asked as she opened the fridge again and took out the two apples she was about to eat. He observed her closely. “You’re a telepath with eidetic memory? That must be a cramped brain you have in there.”

Grantaire smiled. “It _is_ a pain, actually. Gives me constant headaches, which is why…” he picked up his glass and pill meaningfully. Éponine nodded in understanding as she took a bite from the apple. “I don’t know if the eidetic memory is part of the mutation, but it certainly is there. I can also project, though.”

Éponine frowned. “What do you mean ‘project’?”

“Umm, like…” Grantaire extended his palm, and a miniature Japanese dragon appeared, flying and swishing in the air. Éponine grinned.

“Dude, that’s awesome.”

“Touch it,” he shrugged. She lifted her hand and tried to touch the dragon, but she went right through it. She looked at Grantaire in surprise. “Projection,” he said simply. “It’s not there; I’m making you see that in your brain. Basically the same thing I did to make you hear my voice earlier.”

“Amazing. What else can you do?”

Grantaire blushed and looked down. “Well, I like to experiment a lot, to be honest, which is why I know I can project. I’m trying to find what else I can do, still. That seems to be it for now, though.”

“That’s totally awesome, though. It’s an awesome mutation.”

“And thanks to the eidetic memory on the side, I never have to take notes on school,” he boasted. She laughed quietly. “Still shit at Math, though.”

“Well, I actually was shouting and laughing at you while you were trying to find me—before you actually found me. One of the perks of being a silent, invisible cat: you can shout abuse at people.”

“And you’re good at Math,” he chuckled. “Pretty great combo if you ask me. Useful and practical and great for stealing.”

“You have no idea.” They grinned at each other dumbly.

“Have you tried making objects invisible? As in, objects not in contact you? Like, do you think you could turn that book invisible?” he pointed at his father’s Easy Cooking book. Éponine blinked.

“I don’t know.”

Grantaire nodded decisively. “We should meet again sometime. Where can I find you after tonight? We should find out what else you can do. How about silencing someone else? Oh, it would be great if you could silence my dad every once in a while.”

“I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number,” she said as she wrote it down in the colorful napkin, “so call me, maybe.”

“Will do. No hetero, though. Don’t get me wrong.”

She giggled and raised her eyebrows. “No hetero. Gladly.” They passed the point of no return almost as soon as they met; they got along swimmingly.

 

She met Marius at the school’s infirmary three months later, during the last week of classes. He told her he was having a headache again—he said ‘again’ because he had headaches constantly. She told him she had a friend who had the same problem. She introduced Grantaire and Marius, and they were delighted to find someone else with eidetic memory.

Even though Grantaire predicted that Marius was a mutant since the moment they met, the man didn’t tell them until two months later, since his grandfather had ingrained in him shame. “Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know,” had joked Éponine when he told them about his grandfather’s views. “Let it go, Marius,” Grantaire had snickered. Marius had only smiled giddily, amazed with being so easily accepted, and in turn, being easily accepting of them two.

Yes, he had eidetic memory, but that wasn’t what gave him the headaches: it was the noise.

He had an amplified range of hearing. He could listen to everything within a five hundred meter radius, approximately. Conversations, ambient sounds, animal noises, leaves rustling with the breeze, steps—everything. His headaches were worse than Grantaire’s. However, he had a counter-argument: sound wave manipulation. He could make any sound louder or quieter. Grantaire aided him in learning to change the pitch, intensity, brightness and reverb. They were close friends and headache buddies. They gravitated toward each other when either of them was feeling bad.

Since Éponine had strong feelings for Marius then, they went along with him when he met Courfeyrac, and that was that.

 

 

 

 

Grantaire snapped his head back and swallowed the pill dry. The relief was immediate. He was beginning to think that Simplice always gave him placebos. He took a deep, calming breath and walked out of his room, not bothering with doing the bed. He closed the door softly behind him and made his way down the ornate stairs, across a hall, and into the gigantic lounge room. He waved at everyone half-heartedly. Courfeyrac frowned.

“Both our rememberalls are having bad days, then,” he said. Grantaire glanced at Marius sympathetically. The guy attempted a smile from his place in the far corner and tapped his head. Grantaire nodded once and delved into Marius’s mind.

 _Too much noise, too early in the morning, and yesterday night was…_ his thought trailed off. Grantaire nodded as he sat down next to him.

“I feel you,” he murmured out loud, unwilling to create more noise in his friend’s head. “Simplice gave me placebos.”

 _Same_ , Marius thought.

“So,” Enjolras said loudly. Both Marius and Grantaire flinched. “I was thinking we should try experimenting with our mutations again, see if there’s anything else to learn.” Marius extended his palm in Enjolras’s general direction, and the man’s volume decreased significantly. Marius sighed in relief, which drew Enjolras’s attention. When the blond man saw Marius’s extended palm, he frowned in irritation. “Why are you silencing m—”

“Headache, Apollo,” said Grantaire in simple explanation. Enjolras’s frown softened.

“Are you okay?” his voice was now a quiet caress, thanks to Marius’s sound waves manipulation. Everyone was looking at them worriedly.

“Yeah, it’s just, Simplice gave us placebos. Placebos don’t really work after you realize they’re placebos.”

Combeferre spoke gently. “Can I help?”

“That would be swell,” replied Grantaire with a small smile. Marius was listening, but his headache was worse than Grantaire’s, so he didn’t speak.

Combeferre smiled at them and the pounding in both their heads quickly receded; their loud brains stopped trying to break their craniums open. Marius sighed in relief once more and stretched his limbs.

“Thank you,” he told Combeferre for the both of them. Enjolras spoke carefully.

“Do you want me to speak lower?”

Marius shook his head and lowered his hand, ceasing his power. Grantaire closed his eyes, smiled and curled up, snuggling Marius. “You keep talking, chief,” he rumbled.

Enjolras pursed his lips, “You should go see… forget it. You’ve dealt with it before.” He looked away from them and resumed talking, catching everyone’s attention again. All of them seemed excited with the prospect of more experimentation.

Eventually, they started eating their breakfast. Marius, charming chap as he was, brought Grantaire a bowl of oatmeal—slightly cold, but aliment nonetheless. Grantaire glanced at Combeferre, who was teaching Keesh, his pet cockatoo, how to whistle.

He grinned mischievously and projected a black panther into the room, making sure that only Combeferre and Keesh could see it. He made the panther pounce toward Keesh, and the bird screeched and darted off his owner’s shoulder to fly for his life all around the room. The Amis startled and looked at the gone-crazy cockatoo worriedly, and frowned when Grantaire and Combeferre laughed. Enjolras saw his oldest friend grin at Grantaire.

He knew Grantaire was projecting something for the both of them only, and for some reason, that was enough to make him come to a conclusion. He was finally willing and eager to ask Grantaire to help him train his powers. It seemed that everyone had a close and special relationship with Grantaire—they were great friends with him, sure, but it was plain to see that their strongest feeling towards Grantaire would always be gratefulness. One way or another, it was Grantaire who taught them how to fully embrace that which society didn’t, and make the most of it. Enjolras fully embraced his mutation; he didn’t ever allow himself to make the most of it, though. He never wanted it to use his abilities; they were unnecessary and frivolous; he was too curious, though. And he also wanted to be close with Grantaire, as were the others. He felt excluded when they hung out and everyone gravitated to the other man. It was as if they were polar opposites. He wanted to see what drew people to his side.

 

He stood up, made his way to the telepath, and sat down on his left, sandwiching him between Marius and himself.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” asked Grantaire amiably, digging into his oatmeal. Marius glanced between them and excused himself before walking away and dropping in another available seat.

“You’ve taught Combeferre how to expand his powers,” he stated. Grantaire looked at him dubiously.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And Feuilly.”

“Not really. He already had the capacity to do what he does now, he just couldn’t control it.”

“You taught him how to, though.”

“No, I suggested that he try. I helped him try.”

“Joly, then. He couldn’t control his mutation at all. He could only attack himself. You taught him how to control it—”

“Joly didn’t _know_ he had a mutation. How could he control it? I only suggested that he had a mutation—”

Enjolras laughed. “You did so much more than that! Give yourself credit!”

“What for? Credit for what? They’re the ones with the powers. _They_ mastered them. _They_ cultivated them. What’s your point, anyways?”

“I want you to teach me. If you want to, of course,” he said steadily. He looked at his friends. “Seeing all of them nurture their abilities to be what they are now made me realize how… _petty_ mine is.”

Grantaire frowned. “Why would you say that? You control radiant energy, no? That’s not petty at all.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can turn lights on and off, and I can make rooms warmer. How is that useful?”

Grantaire snorted. “It’s much more useful than most of this group’s mutations. Super practical. Plus, that’s not all you can do. Stop whining.”

“That’s all I can do!” he would never admit that he pouted, big time. Grantaire looked at him incredulously.

“You can heat up my cold oatmeal, melt metal, kill people, create fire, blind, freeze, manipulate electricity—you can basically control fucking _life_ , man. I don’t know what else you could wish for.”

Enjolras blinked several times. Grantaire started to frown. Enjolras blinked more, lips parting. He frowned and relaxed in a couple of seconds. He blinked rapidly again before looking at Grantaire again. “I can do that?” It was the other man’s turn to blink rapidly.

“You didn’t know?”

Enjolras grinned. “That’s what you did with the others, then. Tell them what they can do.”

“I don’t know why I’m still surprised that people never realize the true extent of their powers,” he wiped his face. “You truly thought that your only ability was to turn on your lamp at night?”

“Can you… I don’t know, teach me how to—”

“Enjolras, I cannot teach you how to control _your_ power,” he said as if he were speaking to a five year old.

“You did it with the others,” said he pointedly. They stared at each other steadily.

Grantaire pursed his lips. “I’m supposed to do capoeira with Chetta today… and Marius and I want to watch—”

“We can do it some other time,” came Marius’s amplified voice from the other side of the room, “and Chetta says she wants to teach Bossuet, so you have today free and can do the thing with Enjolras.”

Grantaire blushed for no apparent reason, placed his index and middle fingers on his temple and looked back at Marius, who stumbled to his feet, beet red.

“Oh, god, stop it,” he sputtered and covered his eyes. “Oh, god, it doesn’t help! Why am I still seeing it?! Stop it, R! _Oh, my god!_ ”

Grantaire snorted and broke the stare, removing his fingers from their place.

“What did you show him?” asked Musichetta curiously.

“You really don’t wanna know,” replied the victim rapidly. Grantaire smiled innocently before turning back to a curious Enjolras.

“You realize that you’re asking me to spend time with you, right?” he asked slowly.

“I’m aware, yes. Why do you ask? Do you think I dislike your company?”

Grantaire snorted. “Please, I _know_ you do. I’m a telepath. I read minds. You totally dislike me.”

“You haven’t read my mind, then, if you believe I think that,” spoke the blond steadily. “I don’t dislike you; I just don’t know how to talk to you. We don’t agree on much; I don’t take that personally. Think: if our friends like you so much, how could I ever dislike you? We’re all very much alike, after all.”

Grantaire looked at him for a few seconds in assessment, before nodding curtly and hinting a smile. “Okay, then. When do you wanna—”

“In an hour?”

“No, right now. Heat up my oatmeal, please. It’s gotten cold and I hate eating cold food.”

“You can say that again,” said Enjolras, before Grantaire’s request registered. “You asked me to… I don’t know how to do that.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve managed to freeze rooms before.”

“But I’m upset when that happens—I can’t control it—”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Apollo,” interrupted Grantaire. Enjolras closed his mouth and listened attentively. “You have to learn how to control it, and you do that by training your mind,” he tapped his head. He shuffled in his seat excitedly. “Combeferre and I were talking the other day—like nine months ago—about the importance of state of mind in relation to ability control. We made up this theory… I mean, it’s pretty confusing and if you don’t wanna listen to it, that’s totally cool, but—”

“I’m listening.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, sorry for the abrupt ending, but it was starting to become an actual story and I had no time for that at the moment. I may write more if anyone at all is interested:)  
> I'd love criticism for this. I'm trying to better my immediate and unedited writing, as I'm sure this would've turned out better with proper proofreading and edition.


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